


Dean Winchester: The Most Infuriating Man In Existence

by deansscruffyangel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 00:55:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deansscruffyangel/pseuds/deansscruffyangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is the most infuriating, annoying, irritating, petty men in all of existence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean Winchester: The Most Infuriating Man In Existence

Castiel allowed Dean to pin him there against the wall.  Of course, he could’ve moved Dean in an instant if he had wanted to, but he knew better—Dean was angry, and after much careful observation, the angel knew that such an action would only anger Dean further. 

So here stood Castiel—angel of The Lord—pinned between a hard concrete wall, and a fuming Dean Winchester. 

He should be listening to what Dean was saying, should have taken the time to hear his argument, and build his eventual rebuttal—but he didn’t.  Once again, careful observation had swayed him, and the angel stood there—perfectly silent. 

It was difficult to concentrate anyways—with Dean standing so close to him. 

The hunter’s body was pressed against his own, his face only inches from his, furious and screaming something intangible in his face. 

Dean Winchester was undoubtedly infuriating. 

The angel could never actually pinpoint the source of his frustrations though, as this tended to change quite often for him. 

First, it was his eyes.  They were quite dead and bland typically, but the trick was getting them to light up.  Castiel had done that—lightened Dean’s eyes.  He enjoyed that the most, the angel thought, putting the light back into his eyes.  It was infuriating however.  Each time it happened—it was unique—isolated almost.  He could never quite recreate that certain tint of green that the young hunter’s eyes flashed.  How irritating. 

Next, it was his freckles.  They danced across his face, dozens of them painted on his features.  It was maddening to Castiel—what purpose did they serve exactly?  They were spots—on his _face_.  Was he supposed to count them? Touch them?—no, no—definitely not touch them.  Dean wouldn’t like that one bit.

Then it was his smile.  Getting a Winchester to smile was difficult, but getting _Dean_ to smile—and I mean, _really_ smile.  Well, that was practically impossible.  But damned if Castiel didn’t spend every moment of his existence thinking of new was to do so.  Every stupid remark, every ignorant comment, every _goddamned_ tasteless joke—all of it in an attempt to make a man smile? Irritating, annoying, enraging—human emotions.     

Don’t even get me started on his lips.  The way they crinkled at the edges, a ghost of a smile running over them—a frown pressing them together—tears rolling off of them—the fact that all Castiel _ever_ wanted to do was taste them. How exasperating.  

 _His frickin smell._   What was that? Mint? Detergent? That smell that seems to accumulate just before a rain storm? God only knows—

Lastly, it was his passion—and boy did Dean have enough of it to spare.  If pride was Castiel’s middle name—passion was definitely Dean’s.  He practically oozed the stuff.  Castiel could spend an eternity listing all the things that pissed Dean off—let’s be honest here—the man was a colossal baby.  What a petty, slighted man. 

And yet, here he stood— _angel of the frickin Lord, Castiel_ held against the most uncomfortable wall on the face of the earth by such a trivial, conceited man.

It was enough to blind a man with rage, but yet, Castiel wasn’t the one furious here—I bet you can’t guess who it is?

Yeah, it’s Dean.

The angel was sure it had something to do with the hunt that they had just finished.  A Rugaru—a simple, clean-cut kind of hunt, of course, things never really turn out that way, not really. 

Castiel had made a very foolish, and grave mistake—no doubt putting his life in danger.  Being too confident, as Dean would have referred to it, but Castiel was an angel—once again; pride was practically his middle name. 

Dean paused for a moment, finally taking a breath that he needed, no doubt—since the angel couldn’t recall the last time he had. 

He should’ve said something, Castiel knew that, he should’ve apologized—but he didn’t.  Like he said before—it was too difficult to find his words with Dean hovering so close to him, pissing the angel off royally.   

Dean tightened the grip he had on the angel’s collar, suspending him there against the wall.  With just a snap of the angel’s fingers he could’ve reversed the situation—pining Dean against the wall himself, but like he said before, his observations would advise otherwise.  What an infuriating man.

“If you _ever_ do that again—” Dean spat at Castiel, his anger boiling to the surface.

“Do you know how infuriating you are, Dean?” his words cut through the rest of Dean’s sentence, leaving him speechless.  He released his collar, allowing Castiel to run his hands over his coat, smoothing its creased and wrinkled edges. 

“Excuse me?” Dean asked, stumbling back.

“Infuriated—it means to be extremely angry or impatient with someone, or a particular situation”

“I know what it means smartass.  What I’m trying to say—”

“You are, of course.  I didn’t really intend to discuss it with you, Dean.  It was simply a statement.”

“I’m sorry, I’m lost here? I’m still stuck on the part where I’m gonna kick your ass for almost killing yourself”

“Do you know what irritates me the most about you, Dean Winchester?”

“What?” Dean sighed, running his hand over his annoying, freckled little face. 

It only took Castiel a split second to force Dean against the wall, pressing himself as close as the wall behind Dean would let him.  He breathed him in, his scent filling his lungs—it was mint, positively mint—maybe a hint of aftershave—

His freckles obnoxiously close, so close in fact that Castiel could practically touch them—so he did.  The angel cupped Dean’s lower jaw, and brought his face closer to his own, closing the small gap between them further. 

Lastly, it was Dean’s eyes.  They danced with light—luminous and a piercing green color.  Of course, the angel would never get to see this type of green again.  Since his ridiculous eyes would never have the same light in them as they did in this instant. 

“How infuriating” Castiel murmured as he brought Dean forward, pressing the hunter’s mouth against his own. 

Yeah, it was mint—definitely mint. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to one of my best friend's birthdays! I love you castielsfreckledhunter!! :)


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